If someone were to watch them fight, when they truly fight instead of squabble, they would be terrified. No one is allowed to see these fights. They happen behind closed doors, their voices screaming, trying to draw blood with words alone. They’re good at it too. They know exactly what to say to cripple the other. They know the other’s weak spots and they are ruthless when they fight. Suddenly they forget that they love each other. They forget every single reason that they are still together and they only want to injure the other beyond repair.
Then it will just stop. Their voices stop mid-sentence and the silence feels so foreign. It feels as if the world stopped with them. They stare at each other and their pain is palpable. And then, like a scratched record, it starts again.
Arthur screams something as he slams out the door, leaving his jacket behind, and Francis yells something sarcastic back. Each is left with their silence once again.
They have their own ways of recovering. Arthur runs after each fight. He will walk to the nearest park and start sprinting. He’ll run until his legs collapse and he’s gasping for air. He’ll lay there, head spinning and legs on fire, but he’ll feel better. After 30 minutes he’ll pick himself up and walk home.
Francis make souffles. You have to be quiet and precise when making souffles, so they help Francis calm down.
Francis is always finished by the time Arthur comes home. They clean up the mess together and then curl up on the couch, watching an old movie. Francis will press kisses into Arthur’s neck and Arthur will reach for Francis’ hand and they know that they will be alright. There are never any apologies, and maybe that’s okay.
